


Coulson's Christmas Gift

by CreativeReading



Series: The Other Agents of Shield [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Espionage, F/M, SHIELD, super-serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeReading/pseuds/CreativeReading
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I hadn't planned on getting Coulson a Christmas gift, but when the opportunity presented itself on a mission with Agents Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, I had to take it.</p><p>tumblr-creativereadingfanfiction</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note - I own nothing from Marvel or ABC. Julia is all mine.
> 
> This story is a sequel to "Vlad the Impaler" and a prequel to "Ivan the Terrible".

**Ch. 1**

S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are notoriously tight-lipped between levels, in an effort to keep information compartmentalized, because it is drilled in our heads, from day one, that information is power. For example, a level 7 agent won't tell a level 3 agent anything, keeping them in the dark, letting them twist in the wind.

However, get agents together who are all at the same level and, all of a sudden, they become gossipy little divas. It really makes high school look like the U.N. So, when I got a top-secret encrypted email that detailed my next mission, I knew exactly what I was in for. Well, more or less.

I looked down at my screen, rereading it for the third time, knowing that no new information was going to suddenly pop up, but hoping to glean at least one clue as to what exactly I would be doing.

* * *

**Agent: Julia Demarco**

**Mission Parameters: Classified**

**Mission Teammates: Classified**

**Mission Location: Classified**

**Mission Duration: Classified**

**Report to Airfield J at 0800 on December 1.**

* * *

On my last mission, I had been warned by another level 7 agent that if you ever got a mission assignment devoid of any real information, you would most likely be going on a mission with Agents Rogers and Romanoff. Also, you might not be coming back.

Agent Steve Rogers (AKA Captain America) and Agent Natasha Romanoff (AKA Black Widow) had been criss-crossing the globe, shutting down one Neo-Hydra facility after another. Although Hydra had been nominally disbanded after WWII, there were still remnants trying to perfect the super-soldier serum. Of course, they weren't the only organization trying to recreate the success of the Captain America experiment, but they were the most persistent and the most well-funded.

00000

Knowing that I was going on a mission with Coulson's idol, I remembered the story of his death floating around S.H.I.E.L.D. Coulson's blood-stained Captain America cards were used as motivation for the Avengers to rally together. I thought about it and decided to see what I could do to get him another set, signed this time. So, after an expensive trip to Ebay, I was the proud owner of a mint set of Captain America trading cards.

I was excited to be going on this mission. Although I never "officially" lost my level 7 status, I had been sidelined into minor league assignments for years after not shooting my ex-partner while he was escaping S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. If not for Coulson's recommendation after my mission with him, I'd never have seen an assignment like this again.

So, to pay Coulson back, I was going to ask my mission teammate for his autograph. I'd done a lot more humiliating things on a mission. How bad could it really be, I thought.

Really, really bad, as it turned out.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 2**

* * *

There is a popular misconception that field agents are all multilingual, fluent speakers of a dozen different languages. I always giggled when I watched a Bond movie and he busted out with yet another language. The last movie I watched, he was up to number nine.

The truth is, most agents speak one language. A good portion of them speak two. A small handful speak three or more fluently. My Spanish is good enough that when I'm not working assignments in the U.S., I have assignments in mostly Spanish-speaking countries. I can get by in Portuguese and my Italian is so-so at best (which my grandmother laments every time I visit her).

So, I wasn't surprised to arrive in a crowded South American airport for the mission. What did shock me was the hotel I was assigned to stay in.

When I'm usually on mission, S.H.I.E.L.D. puts me up in ratty motels that you would never willingly visit. The official reason is to blend in with the local populace, but deep down, I know why; S.H.I.E.L.D. can be penny-pinching in the weirdest ways. Hell-carriers can rain down from the sky on a regular basis, which are worth hundreds of millions of dollars, but try to get a hotel with hot water and all of a sudden you're wasting taxpayer dollars.

However, I found the exception to the rule. Save the Earth from marauding aliens, and you get to stay at a luxury hotel while on assignment. I'd have to look into doing missions with Agents Rogers and Romanoff more often.

0000

I got my key card and went to drop my luggage off at the room. When I arrived, I noticed two beds and I cursed under my breath. They were going to make me bunk in with Agent Romanoff. I hated cheapskates. So much for getting to relax in my room all by myself. After reviewing the mission details I'd been sent upon arriving to the country, I made my way to the debriefing at a secure location on the other side of the city.

0000

I smiled when I came into the debriefing room and saw Agent Rodriguez, our local contact in the field. I'd worked with him before. He was an experienced agent, in his late 40s or early 50s, grey streaking his dark hair. I always enjoyed working with him. He was a big flirt, although I knew it was all an act, having had dinner with him and his amazingly beautiful wife, as well as their kids. His oldest had just gotten married last year, and his first grandchild was on the way.

The best thing about working with Rodriguez was that he was thoughtful and thorough. He carefully weighed all the possible complications of each mission, yet always left room in any plans for the eventual surprises that always occurred on assignment. Sometimes, you had to think on your feet.

Agents Rogers and Romanoff were both there also, dressed in civilian clothes, but standing out as though there were spotlights on them. Agent Rogers' looks just screamed American heartthrob or captain of the football team and Romanoff looked like she belonged in the side of a billboard, hawking perfume. I smiled awkwardly during the introductions and stiffly shook their hands. I was glad that we weren't going to do much undercover work for this operation, because they would see those two coming from a mile away.

Although Agent Rogers was the nominal lead for this mission, I could tell that he carefully listened to everything Agent Rodriguez had to say. They were both keen to minimize any civilian casualties as well as contain any damage. We would need to blow the facility after clearing it, and both Rogers and Rodriguez were concerned about fire spreading into the nearby area.

"We'll also need to consider the test subjects," I piped up as both Rodriguez and Rogers debated the best way to clear the facility.

"Why?", asked Romanoff, eyebrows furrowed and head cocked to the side.

"Look, they might not be there of their own free will." I could see Romanoff begin to object and I cut her off. "Even if they are, they were probably lied to. I'm sure that the recruitment speech didn't start off with, 'Hi, I'm with Hydra. We're a super evil organization and we'd love to have you volunteer for an experiment that will most likely kill you.'"

Rodriguez bit his lip to keep from laughing, but nodded. "This organization preys on desperate people. Whether the motive is financial or otherwise, these men that are being experimented on are not monsters."

"But the Hydra scientists that run these experiments are," Romanoff snapped back. "You haven't seen what we've seen. Bodies contorted, twisted, limbs misshapen, men dying every day. They can't be allowed to continue. It's important that we completely destroy this facility."

Agent Rogers agreed with Romanoff. "While I know that we need to take care of the people being held there against their will, we also need to get rid of that compound. Hydra has to be stopped." From the pained expression on his face, I could tell he was remembering Hydra's other gruesome experiments.

We spent another hour or so going over the rest of the details for the plan. We needed a way in and that is when I finally found out why I was brought in on this mission. One of the local Hydra scientists used to be an asset for S.H.I.E.L.D. My ex-partner and I had gotten intel from him from time to time whenever we were in the area. My heart sank when I found out he had been flipped for Hydra. My job was to turn him once again and find out how to get into the facility.

0000

It was dark when I arrived at the scientist's apartment and broke in to wait for him to arrive home. I sat in an overstuffed leather chair, in the dark, facing the front door with a gun resting in my lap. It was a cliche, I know, but it works.

**"Hola, Tomás. ¡Cuánto tiempo sin verte***! " I said in a tone that I hope sounded at least a little menacing when he opened the door.

He let out a strangled scream as he flicked on the light. "Agent Demarco, what are you doing here?"

I smirked, so much for practicing my Spanish. "You know why I'm here, Tomás. We had a deal. You give us information and we'll let you live outside a jail cell, provided you don't misbehave. Unfortunately for you, Tomas, a little birdie told me you've been a very, very bad boy." I tried for my best Marilyn Monroe voice, soft and breathy, but with a hint of malice. I left the gun resting in my lap, knowing I didn't need to aim it to make my point.

"I had to. They threatened my family." His eyes were wild and he began to sweat.

"Tomás, you forget. I know you. You have no family. Try again."

I could see the defeat in his eyes. "Fine. What do you need?"

I smiled. "Everything."

It took nearly an hour, but I was able to nail down all the information we'd need to infiltrate the compound. When I was satisfied that we had gotten everything useful out of Tomás, I signaled our local S.H.I.E.L.D. backup that was waiting outside. They carted him off. I didn't trust him not to call his Hydra superiors the second he was alone. Despite how forthcoming he had been, it could have all been a sham. Interrogating someone rarely gets 100% reliable intel. People always lie.

0000

I returned back to the hotel and got ready to do the one thing I'd been avoiding. I'd been waiting, not wanting to do it in front of anyone else, but I had to get those autographs before we did our mission. I'm an optimist, but I knew I couldn't put off things like that. Who knew if I was going to make it back?

I knocked on Captain America's door. I wasn't supposed to know which room was his, but I snuck a peek at the guest directory when I was checking in and saw a "Mike Smith" on the computer screen for the largest suite in the hotel. It's like S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted him to to be found.

He opened the door and stood awkwardly, filling the door frame, hair wet from a shower. He looked like an inverted triangle with his immensely broad shoulders. At 6', he had a good six inches on me as he stared down at me and I suddenly felt even more self-conscious than ever. But, I reasoned, if I could face down sniper fire, I could get through the next few minutes.

"Hi, Agent Rogers, um, I have something to ask. It's a little embarrassing."

"Yes, Agent . . . ," he paused, having clearly forgotten my name.

"Demarco," I replied, trying not to be offended. The poor guy had probably been on five different missions in the past month alone. He couldn't be expected to remember everyone's name.

I noticed that he was still standing in the doorway, not having asked me in like a normal person would. Then, something clicked in my brain, his nervousness, not wanting me to come in his room. He thought I was hitting on him.

Crap, I thought as I turned a bright red.

My first instinct was to turn and run, but I persevered. "My nephew is a big fan. Could you sign these trading cards for him?" The words rushed out as I thrust the cards and a pen at him.

His shoulders fell and all the tension melted from his body.

"Oh, yeah, sure. I'd be glad to." He broke out in a genuine smile and quickly signed each one.

"Thanks, see you in the morning," I said when he'd finished, trying to get out of there as soon as possible.

"See you then," he said, closing the door.

Coulson better appreciate this gift, I thought bitterly.

0000

It was 11 p.m., later that night, and I knew, without a doubt, that I had found out Black Widow's fatal flaw. The woman might be a deadly assassin, an amazing strategic thinker, and drop-dead gorgeous, but she snored like a freight train. I tossed and turned a bit, then reasoned that I might as well do something productive. Maybe if I took advantage of the hotel's onsite gym, I'd work off some excess energy and be able to sleep through the racket in my room.

I quickly dressed in my ratty old, workout clothes and made my way to the hotel gym. One of the hardest things about being a field agent is the constant travel. It can be hard to set up any kind of routine. I try to make sure to pack my gym clothes on assignment since I never know when I'll get the chance to sneak in a workout.

I slid my key card to open the gym door, sure that I'd be the only one working out on a late Friday night. I was wrong.

Agent Rogers was already there, his back to me, giving a punching bag the thrashing of its life. I stood uncertainly in the doorway, debating what to do next. The last thing I wanted to do was seem like a stalker, but a few more hours of Romanoff's unholy snoring and I'd lose it.

I brazened through the door, about to sneak on one of the machines when he stopped and noticed me.

"Uh, hi, Agent Demarco."

Well, at least he remembered my name this time.

"I had to get out of my room; Romanoff snores," I said as an excuse.

"I know," he said with a smile and then, after a moment, turned red. "What I mean is, I've been on a lot of missions with her, not that . . .," he trailed off, looking embarrassed.

I grinned triumphantly. It looked like I wasn't the only one who trips over their words.

"I understand," I said, trying to make him feel better. "I had an ex-partner who would talk in his sleep. I was always afraid he'd give away our cover when we were on assignment."

With that, I put in my headphones and jumped on the only treadmill. I selected my favorite playlist, turning the volume down slightly so as not to subject my gym partner to the embarrassing mix of Katy Perry and Daft Punk. I began to run, starting slowly and then ramping up. I hate, hate, hate running, but I do it faithfully as a job requirement.

After thirty minutes, I was dripping in sweat. I got off the treadmill and decided to switch to weights. I was surprised that Agent Rogers was still there. I smiled as our eyes met and I went over to the free weights.

"Can I steal you a second? I'd really love a spotter."

"Oh, yeah, sure, no problem." He stopped punching the bag. I noticed that after more than thirty minutes of boxing, he hadn't even broken a sweat.

I felt self-conscious about how little I could lift compared to my spotter. "You know, the hard part about being a female agent is that you're almost always weaker than every other guy out there. You have to try that much harder." I didn't know why I was trying to justify myself to him.

He smiled encouragingly, "I actually know what that's like. Constantly having to prove yourself, showing others that you have what it takes. Not letting them judge you by what they see."

I blanched. I had forgotten how sickly and weak he had been before he took the super-soldier serum. Man, this was my night for sticking my foot in my mouth.

I finished my lifting as quickly as I could, straining with the last rep. Steve saw my shaking arms and asked, "May I?" and when I nodded, he easily lifted the weight with one hand and placed it back on the rack.

"Well, I should probably go and get some shut-eye. Big day tomorrow," I said as I stood up from the bench.

"Me too. I'll go back up with you," he said.

The elevator went to up to Agent Roger's level first. "Um, I've got something for you," he said and motioned for me to follow him out the elevator.

I waited outside his door as he went in to retrieve something. "Here," he said and handed me a small clear plastic bag. Inside were two earplugs.

I took them and beamed at him, overjoyed at the prospect of a good night's sleep. "Oh, you just saved my life. Thank you so much. I could just kiss you."

Really? I couldn't go two minutes without embarrassing myself?

He didn't seem offended. "Well, you have a good night."

"You, too," I replied with a wan smile.

As I turned to walk back to the elevator, I tried to focus on my mission, going over each detail of our upcoming assault on the facility. I couldn't allow myself the luxury of being distracted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes - *Translates roughly to - Hi, Tomás. Long time, no see.
> 
> **Para mis lectores que hablan español- Me habría gustado escribir toda la conversación en español, pero como la historia principal está en inglés, decidí escribirla en inglés.
> 
> Translation - For my readers that speak Spanish- I would have liked to write all of the conversation in Spanish, but since the main story is in English, I decided to write it in English.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3**

Before the mission, I went through the standard routine of checking all my weapons and ammo. As I went through the familiar motions, I contemplated the heavy, ungainly gun in my hand. It felt wrong. Guns should feel cool when you hold them, slick metal against a sweaty palm. This gun seemed alive. It was warm to the touch, almost hot and smelled of ozone. It pulsed with a perverse type of energy. My ex-partner, a gun runner, had predicted that the illegal Chitauri-based weapons that I had confiscated for S.H.I.E.L.D. would be standard issue for all agents in three or four months. He was wrong. It happened in two.

0000

I prefer to wear civilian clothes whenever I do an infiltration. It's much easier to come up with a reasonable lie when you are caught by the bad guys when you are not in full S.W.A.T. type gear. On the other hand, heavy body armor has saved my life more than once. It's a delicate balance.

However, on this mission, it looked like neither option was going to work out. To sneak into the compound, I would have to go through the air ducts to get to the test subjects that needed to be cleared out prior to the detonation of the facility. Which meant that I would need to slither through a cramped area that bulky armor wouldn't fit through.

Which only left one option.

The bodysuit.

Body armor is a top priority for S.H.I.E.L.D. Our agents tend to get shot at a lot. So, our busy little engineers are always trying to come up with new ways to keep us safe. One such invention was the bodysuit. While not completely bullet-proof, it did a decent job of slowing down smaller caliber bullets and deflecting knives. For some reason, the male version fit like normal coverall. The female version was much more form-fitting, like a catsuit.

I hated it.

Here's the problem. If you are tall and built like Agent Maria Hill and you wear it, you look graceful and athletic in it. If you are built like the Black Widow, you look sexy, yet badass.

Me, I tended to look like I was wearing a risque Halloween version of a Catwoman costume. I blamed genetics.

When we arrived at the outskirts of the compound, I changed in the van, pulling my medium brown hair into a messy ponytail*. When I came out, Agent Rodriguez grinned and said, "Well, hello, Agent Demarco." The words were innocent but the tone was beyond suggestive.

"Don't even start with me, Rodriguez, or I will punch you in the throat," I said, but gave him a wink to soften the warning as I pushed a curl out of my face.

He put his hands up in mock surrender, "Okay, okay. I'll be good."

Agent Rogers came around from the other side of the van, head down, fixing the cuffs of his own Captain America suit. "Agent Demarco, you can't threaten one of your . . ." He trailed off when he looked up and saw me.

"Um, uh, yeah, anyhow." Agent Rogers blushed and looked away.

Great. Humiliations galore. I stole Rodriguez's over-sized sweater from the van and shot him a dirty look when he began to object. I pulled it on over my suit even though I was already sweating. Next time, I was going to swipe one of the guys' suits.

00000

In the movies, air ducts are pristine, well-lit passageways that agents travel through quickly and effortlessly on all fours.

In reality, they are often dark, filthy, mold-infested mazes that will turn you claustrophobic in mere minutes. Most of the time you are sliding along on your belly, face down in grime. It is incredibly easy to get lost and end up in the completely wrong area of a building. They are a nightmare.

I was not happy when we realized that I was going to have to use the air ducts to free the test subjects. However, the best thing about large organizations is that they are notoriously lazy. Develop one evil testing facility and they will just copy the design on every other compound. We knew the entire layout of the facility, not only from Tomás' confession, but from the fact that Agents Rogers and Romanoff had already shut down several of these compounds already.

When I arrived at the test subject area, I carefully took off the vent cover and placed it beside me in the air duct.

"I'm at the test subject area," I whispered to the rest of our team over the comm system.

The room was horrific.

Half of the large room was dedicated to square, reinforced metal cages, that were about 6 feet by 6 feet. I could see five men in separate cells, three of them crying and screaming while pacing, the other two rocking back and forth in a corner. Their bodies were covered in sores and open cuts, their skin split open where their muscles had grown too quickly for the rest of their body to catch up. There was a pile of bodies in a corner and the stench was unimaginable. It reminded me of a slaughterhouse, reeking of blood and offal.

I almost regretted not shooting Tomás. Almost.

I could see why Agents Romanoff and Rogers were so insistent on blowing the facility up. Just looking at the room I felt the evil coating my body like a film.

"I've got eyes on the test subjects. There are about 25 dead in the northwest corner of the room. There are five men who are alive. It looks like two of them might not be able to walk out of here and there are three more who can, but they are all in pretty bad shape."

I looked around the room once more and didn't see any sign of the guards or the scientists. I leapt down to the ground and took a step forward when I heard the familiar click of a gun cocking in my left ear.

I turned around and took a few cautious steps back as I saw a white-coated Hydra scientist pointing a gun at my head.

I gave him my best innocent smile as I slowly raised my hands.

"You don't think that we have procedures in place in case one of our own got taken? When Tomás didn't check in this morning, we increased all security measures," he said in vaguely European accent I couldn't place.

I backed away slowly. He took a few steps closer, licking his thin lips, relieving me of my weapon.

"Won't this be fun to study," he said as he hefted the retro-engineered alien technology.

"Now, you know, we haven't had any female test subjects yet. There are one or two experiments I've been dying to try," he said, baring his teeth in a sinister smile.

I shuddered. It must be written in the bad guy handbook that you have to be extra creepy whenever you get a female captive.

"Look, behind you," I said, pointing.

"What do you take me for, an idiot? Falling for that petty attempt at a . . .."

With that, Black Widow sprang down from the air duct behind him, kicking the gun out of his hand. It clattered to the ground.

"Are they ever not going to fall for that?" I asked Romanoff as she handcuffed the scientist while I retrieved my weapon.

"They're nothing if not predictable," she agreed, all business.

00000

Romanoff helped me clear out the test subjects before she went off to join in the fighting. I had to laugh when I saw her use two guns against the guards simultaneously. Although it looked cool, for anyone not injected with super-serum, it would just mean that you would be wildly inaccurate. A normal human simply cannot properly aim at two different targets at the same time. However, I had to admit, she was a sight to see, reminding me of a ballerina as she spun and pirouetted, raining down a hail of bullets on anyone in her path.

I got the test subjects loaded into our van, when one went wild and began to run back towards the facility, screaming in Spanish about revenge for his brothers that they had killed. I secured the others and ran after him, tackling him. I knew that they were about to blow the building any minute and we needed to get out of the blast radius. I tried to reason with him as he thrashed about, ducking his blows. He was short for a man, about my height, but the serum had given him an unnatural strength. Luckily, when he finally understood that we were about to bomb the facility, he stopped fighting me.

We were too far away from the van, so I led him towards a nearby truck to use for cover, running as quickly as I could, but he was exhausted and I could tell that we weren't going to get there fast enough.

Then, the first of the explosions began before we could reach the truck. Since I was wearing my poor excuse for body armor, I tried covering him as best I could, closing my eyes as I hunched over him. Then, the heat abated suddenly. I crouched there for a long moment, waiting for the last of the bombs to go off. I opened my eyes and saw what had stopped the wave of heat. Agent Rodgers had covered both of us with his body and his shield. Captain America had just saved my life. That's the problem with top-secret missions. You can't put that on Facebook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note- For those of you who read Vlad the Impaler, you'll notice that Julia changed her hair color. Any guesses why?


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch. 4**

Every agent has a post-mission ritual. Some find the nearest bar and get drunk, trying to blot out whatever new horror they have witnessed. Some spend hours on Skype, reconnecting with their family, reassuring them that they are alive and well.

My ritual consists of finding a church, lighting a candle and offering up a prayer. I'm not Catholic, more a non-denominational Protestant, but it's been a great way to focus myself and live my life in gratitude. A lot of times, the circumstances of my job try to push me into a moral grey area. It's important for me to stop and remember that some things really are black and white, right and wrong. So, whenever I can, I take the time to offer up thanks for my safety, ask for continued protection and pray for anyone's family who lost someone.

The morning after our mission, I went to a little church that Rodriguez attended, ready to sneak in and out before anyone would notice. After I was done, I turned around and saw Agent Rogers sitting in a pew in the back, eyes downcast, lips moving silently, dressed in a black suit and tie. Once again, I was torn. Should I just sneak out or should I say something?

He looked up and smiled at me. Well, I was caught. I walked over to him.

"Hello, Rogers," I said in hushed tones. Even though we were alone in the tiny church, I felt like I should whisper.

"Please, call me Steve," he said.

"I'm Julia," I said, holding out my hand with a wink. He shook it and I noticed that he held it a moment longer than was strictly necessary before letting go.

"So, how's, um, Agent . . .," he paused for a moment, searching for a name.

"Moreno got out of surgery this morning. The bullet missed all the major organs. It looks like he'll make a full recovery," I said as I sat next to him to talk, awkwardly playing with the hem of my knee length skirt.

"It's always hard, when one of your own gets hurt," he said. I nodded. I had figured that was why he didn't try to learn our names. How many times had he lost someone in a raid this month alone? Three, four times? He was trying to distance himself, protect himself from the pain.

"So, do you do this often?" he asked, waving to the church.

"Post-mission ritual. If I can make it." Sometimes it was impossible, but I did the best I could.

"Me, too. It's been rough lately, though. Not a lot of consistency," he said almost sheepishly.

"Yeah, I can see that. By the way, I wanted to thank you again for what you did at the raid, saving me. You were amazing. I mean I had heard stories, seen videos, but nothing prepared me for the reality."

He blushed a bit, "Just doing my part. You and the rest of the team did great."

"Thanks." I wanted to say more, but the poor man didn't need me to fangirl all over him.

I stood to go, but paused, turning to look back at him. "I know you're probably busy, but Rodriguez is taking me and the local team all out to his favorite salsa club tonight. Would you like to come?"

He grimaced. "I'd actually really love to, but Agent Romanoff and I are due to fly out of here at 1600 hours."

"Well, maybe next time, Steve," I said, putting on a brave face and trying to mask my disappointment.

"Definitely. I'm looking forward to it, Julia," he said and I detected a note of wistfulness, although that may have been wishful thinking on my part.

I turned to leave and then I heard him over my shoulder.

"Hey, you know, I still have a couple of hours. Could I take you to lunch?"

I smiled. Lunch with Captain America. "That's sounds great."

0000

We ate a small restaurant nearby. The food was divine.

He let me order for him. "Just don't get guinea pig."

I giggled. "Don't worry. That's mostly just Peru, although you see it in Colombia and Ecuador. You're safe. You should try it once though. It's actually pretty good. It tastes like a cross between a pig and a rabbit."

"I'll take your word for it," he said with a chuckle. "So, how'd you get started working for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"I was 18, a freshman in college, majoring in history. I needed to earn some extra money, so I worked as a paid volunteer for some psych experiments run by the university. Only they weren't really psych experiments, they were tests for S.H.I.E.L.D. recruitment. After a few months, an agent came to my dorm room and offered me the job."

"You started working for them at 18?" he asked, surprised.

"Well, kind of. I trained with them while I finished my degree. By my senior year, I was going on short, easy missions for them. After graduation, I started working for them full-time. It's been about 10 years since I first got recruited. So, how'd you get started with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"After I woke up, Director Fury asked me to join up. He said I could still help people."

"Wow, the man himself. You know, after 10 years, I've never even met him. What's he like?" I asked.

"He's . . ." He paused as though searching for the right word, "intense." He shook his head slightly. "So you studied history . . . any particular period?"

"Not really, I guess I liked it all, you know, Ancient Greece all the way through more modern eras. So, I've been dying to ask, I mean, you don't have to answer, but what was it like, living in the 1940s and then, waking up in 2011?"

"It was hard at first, but the truth is, it's been two years and it's still hard. Everything goes by in a blur. I always feel like I'm playing catch-up, even now." He looked down at his food.

"I can imagine," I said.

"Can you?" he asked with a bitter smile.

"Yeah, a bit at least. It's like culture shock. My last two years of college, I studied abroad. I remember always feeling out of step, as though I was falling behind. My friends would make a joke about a pop culture icon that everyone knew but me, and I'd be the only one not laughing, the only one left out."

"Exactly. See, you get it," he said excitedly.

I decided to move the conversation to an easier subject. "So, what's you favorite movie?"

"I used to go to the movies all the time, before. Let's see, The Wizard of Oz was amazing."

"I used to watch it every Christmas as a kid. One year, I dressed up as Dorothy for Halloween with the red shoes and a stuffed dog in a basket."

He grinned. "I bet you were adorable."

I blushed a bit at the compliment. "My brothers were the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow."

"Three brothers?"

"Yeah, I'm the baby of the family. I think that when they finally got a girl they gave up."

"So what's your favorite movie? Although, I've got to warn you, I probably haven't seen it."

"I don't know, you might have, it's His Girl Friday," I said.

"The one with Rosalind Russell?"

"Yeah, and Cary Grant. I adore that movie. I can't tell you how many times I've watched it. The dialogue is incredible and they have amazing chemistry together. One of the things that I love about it is the focus about the balance of a career and marriage. It was really ahead of its time."

"Golly, you really are a fan," and he leaned in, beaming.

"Oh, yeah, I grew up watching old black and white movies with my dad. I also loved all the Road movies with Bob Hope and Bing Crosby."

"Yeah, the ones with Dorothy Lamour," he said, smiling in recognition. I almost teased him about remembering all of the actresses' names, but I couldn't blame him. They were all so incredibly glamorous and beautiful back then.

"You know, they made four more after, well, after 1944." I cringed as soon as the words left my mouth. I hadn't meant to mention the time he had spent frozen.

"I loved those movies. I'll have to watch the rest," he said, politely ignoring my faux pas.

"They're great. I always felt bad for Bob Hope, though. I wanted him to get the girl."

"Really? I thought all the girls swooned over Bing Crosby."

"I don't know. I guess, I like to root for the underdog," I said with a shrug.

He looked at my left hand resting on the table. "So, there's not a Mr. Demarco, waiting back at home?" he asked.

I had to smile. "No, not married."

"Good," he said. "What, what I mean to say is . . . ." he began.

"No boyfriend either," I said, with a wink, to save him the embarrassment of finishing the sentence. "And you, no Mrs. America at home, baking you apple pies?"

"No, nothing like that. Before the serum, well, let's just say that I wasn't that popular with the ladies."

"And after?" I asked.

"There was someone special, but that was a long, long time ago," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

I reached across and squeezed his hand with a sympathetic smile. When I let go, he grabbed a hold of my hand with a wink. I felt my breath catch.

He was about to say something when his phone rang. He ignored it.

"You should answer that. What if it's important?"

"It can wait. This can't."

I'm not ashamed to admit that I just melted when he said that.

0000

After lunch, he checked his messages. His departure time had been moved up and there would be a taxi waiting for him at the hotel to take him to the airfield. We walked quickly back to the hotel together. Ever the gentleman, he offered me his arm as we started back. We walked arm in arm and I leaned into him more than I should have, justifying it to myself that it might be the last time I ever saw him.

"I had a great time," I said as we waited in the lobby for his taxi.

"I did, too," he said, but his voice was tinged in sadness.

"Then, why so glum?" I asked.

"This kind of life isn't really that great when it comes to getting to know someone better."

"Yeah, I agree," I said, nodding.

"It's just that, I don't even know which continent I'll be on tomorrow."

"Look, no worries. I understand. That's the best part about fellow agents. They know what you're going through," I said as I gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

"It's so hard to actually connect with someone and who knows when I'll get to see you again."

I could feel my cheeks grow hot. I knew we were having a good time, but I didn't know if it would extend beyond the one lunch.

"Would you like to?" I asked, tentatively.

"See you again? Yes, I really, really would."

After that, we did the awkward dance that is the information exchange, the phone numbers, the email addresses, etc. He admitted that Romanoff had to still help him get most of his texts and emails.

"I'll keep that in mind so that I don't send you any embarrassing love letters," I teased him with a grin.

"I don't know. That doesn't sound so bad. It'd be worth the teasing by Natasha," he said as he bent down and kissed me gently.

I held my breath, not wanting the moment to end.

Then, too soon, the taxi driver entered the lobby, clearly looking for Steve.

"Well, you have a Merry Christmas," I said, waving at the decorations around the hotel as we parted.

"You too, let me know if Coulson likes his gift."

"Wait, you knew?" I asked, dumbfounded.

He grinned, "For a while now." He gave me a wink as he left to greet the driver.

And that's how I got Coulson's Christmas gift.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Kind reviews are better than luxury hotel suites and I thank you for them.
> 
> Agent Julia Demarco will return in Ivan the Terrible for yet another mission with Coulson and his team.


End file.
